From his workshop window Greyhorn watched his nephew pace the trail toward Alicon. A vague anxiety began to pervade the wizard's vitals. Grantin was an indolent, irresponsible, spendthrift, but what could go wrong with so simple a task?
Greyhorn watched Grantin's departing figure until it reached the bottom of the slope, then he turned back to his workbench. He had been experimenting with a contrivance of glass and steel which he hoped would operate as a focusing mechanism for his more powerful spells. In a few days it would be ready for a test. The subject? Hazar's form immediately sprang to mind. Yes, this device would possibly slow the villain down a bit.
As if his thoughts of the Gogol prince had tripped a relay, the black wizard's form suddenly called to Greyhorn from the lens. Greyhorn pushed his psychic condenser to the side of the table, then positioned himself in front of the plate. Palm outward, Greyhorn moved his right hand in a sweeping pass in front of the lens. Immediately Hazar's visage appeared.
"Hazar," Greyhorn called. "Have you called to tell me that your fellows have at last agreed that you shall be their chief?"
"Not yet, Greyhorn, but soon, soon. No, I merely wish to inform you that my messenger has been delayed and will not reach Alicon until tomorrow morning. Your courier may delay his departure until sunrise."
"Departure? I don't believe I indicated that my associate lived outside of Alicon. In any event you are too considerate, Hazar. My messenger will be ready to receive the ring, be it tonight or tomorrow or even the day after."
"Excellent, Greyhorn, I'm glad you are so well organized. I'll tell you this: your associate is a lucky fellow indeed. The person whom he will meet is a rare beauty."
"Assuming that my subordinate is a man, I accept your assurances of the lady's beauty," Greyhorn replied frostily. Grantin to meet a lovely woman! He'd rue the day he was born if he let her get the better of him, Greyhorn promised himself. He turned his attention back to the lens. "So, Hazar, what other news have you for me? Does all go smoothly with your plans? Everyone is ready for the attack? No little inconveniences or difficulties?"
"Well, in these things there are always minor snags here and there. Hardly difficulties worth mentioning."
Greyhorn's interest was instantly aroused. "Little snags? Perhaps you should describe them to me so that I can watch for similar problems arising among my fellow Hartfords."
"Small chance of that. One of our Grays is being a bit obstreperous, but he'll be settled with shortly."
"A Gray causing trouble? I thought they were the most spiritless, docile creatures in existence. I have always been given to understand that the Ajaj Grays follow your every command. It would seem that an Ajaj voicing complaints is truly an extraordinary act."
"Perhaps extraordinary, but not at all important. The Ajaj take little interest in our affairs. Certainly your Ajaj Pales will have no role in the coup. No, this fellow is obviously one of those random mutants who prove the rule. I'm sure the slightest reproach from the lowliest of my subdeacons will have him cringing in abject obedience."
"Still," Greyhorn replied, "one must tread warily with the Ajaj. They have their own powers. My ancestors found that those who had molested them often disappeared without a trace."
"Possibly true of the Pales, but the Grays accept our rule. We assign them tasks which they perform without complaint. They are controlled by their own leaders."
"No doubt you are right, Hazar. In any event the Grays are your problem, not mine. I will have the ring tomorrow, and seven days hence I will order the attack on the defenders of the mountain pass."
"Yes, Greyhorn," Hazar said as he broke the connection, "soon you will have all the power you can use."
But what's power to a dead man? Hazar gleefully asked himself once the screen was clear. That arrogant, flint-eyed poseur, Greyhorn, would never live to be one of the lords in Hazar's empire. Already Maurita, Greyhorn's dear Maurita, had supplied Hazar with a bit of Greyhorn's hair and a fragment of dead skin from his left big toe.
Hazar chuckled at Greyhorn's cold reception of the probes regarding the identity of the courier. That would keep the old fool guessing. Hazar already knew that it was Greyhorn's worthless nephew Grantin who went to receive the ring. Now, if only Mara played her part, beguiled him, seduced him, and then smeared a drop of Grantin's blood upon the bloodstone. The blood which flowed in Grantin's veins was like that which flowed in Greyhorn's. Together with Mara's enchantment it would cause the ring, once in Greyhorn's possession, to lose its power within a month. Then, with the hair and skin and blood which Mara would bring back to him, Hazar would destroy both uncle and nephew as easily as a lumberjack squashes an ant. Except for that ridiculous Ajaj Castor, all of Hazar's plans proceeded apace.
What to do about that troublemaker? First he must be isolated from his own kind. Without the support of his fellows, Castor's death was far less likely to cause annoying repercussions. Hazar crossed his workroom and stuck his head into the anteroom beyond. "Rupert, come in here, I have a task for you." Rupert urged his sweaty, dumpy body to its feet. The deacon's skin was a pallid, waxy white and glistened softly under its sheen of oil. The brown, thinning hair was greasy and combed straight back in limp chestnut strands.
"Rupert, I have a job for you. I want you to get yourself over to the Ajaj settlement and straighten out one of the Grays. Word has reached me that one of these fellows has been urging his associates to resist my orders.
"You talk to the chief of that race of sheep-the chief decision maker or random factor or whatever it is they call her-and tell her to take steps to solve this problem. You make sure that she orders this Gray, this Castor, to cease his seditious propaganda and to withdraw all his previous remarks. Be sure she understands that if she does not silence Castor herself we will take steps to do so. Further, she must realize that there is to be no unpleasantness if we are forced to take matters into our own hands."
"I am to obtain the promise of the decision maker to deal with this fellow, then?"
"Nonsense! One doesn't trust a sheep to do the job of a huntcat. First talk to the decision maker, then secret yourself in a likely spot, recite the appropriate incantation, and observe how she handles the problem. If the matter is concluded, all well and good. I will then reduce Castor to the position of a scullery assistant or garbage picker for his impertinence, and that will be that. On the other hand"-Hazar now fixed Rupert with an intent steely gaze-"if for any reason this Gray continues in his treason, you are to kill him in a most spectacular method. Nothing ordinary, now-no drops of poison or clean slash of the knife. Turn him into a human fireball. Explode him like an overinflated bladder. Cause him to pull off his legs and beat himself over the head with them – something to make an example of him."
"It shall be as you command, Hazar."
"Of course it will. Now, get to it!" Rupert hurried from the room with a strange rubbery grace. Hazar closed and locked the door behind him. In a moment the wizard had forgotten Castor and the Ajaj, and Greyhorn as well. Instead he turned to his workbench and commenced even further refinements of the spell which, when augmented by the powerstones which he would soon possess, would be sufficient to amplify his army's power to the point where it might conquer every being on the planet, Hartford, Gogol, Ajaj, and Fanist alike.